regrets?”
“Yes and no,” Vida insisted. “I wanted him to choose me over the parade of women following him like bleating sheep. He thought being his wife ought to be enough for me. I was a fool to disagree.”
“No, he was the fool to behave badly and let you go,” Maggie replied, even knowing she ought to stay out of her father’s twisted love life.
“Thank you, but you’re as wrong as I was.” She checked her diamond-encrusted watch. “I need to keep track of the time; our visits mustn’t be too long.”
“Will I see you at dinner?”
“No, we come and go without making a ripple in Miguel’s life. I hope you’re not sorry you made the trip. Miguel has so many heirs, he can’t be generous to us all. Although you’ll probably be mentioned in his will.”
Taken aback by the second mention of his will, Maggie was slow to respond. “I’m grateful to have met him.”
“I’m sure you weren’t disappointed. Have a safe trip home.” Vida’s tight white sheath barely touched her knees, and her platform heels were so high she tottered slightly as she entered the back door.
Vida was petite and nearly as beautiful as Maggie’s own mother. Her mother was a far stronger woman, though, and had divorced an unfaithful husband rather than suffer with his poor behavior. Still, her mother had kept Miguel’s photographs with treasured family keepsakes, and Maggie would never ask if she harbored any regrets.
Chapter Eight
Tomas, the Aragon’s personal chef, glanced over his shoulder as Maggie entered the kitchen. “You should use the proper rear entrance to the house.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. Where is it?”
The man glanced upward in a silent prayer. “Adolfo, show her the door.”
Adolfo was a short, rotund young man who wiped off his hands and gestured for Maggie to follow. He exhaled in puffs as he hurried down the back hallway. They passed a small lounge where that day’s nurse was seated on the sofa, watching television. Adolfo stopped at a rear door located behind the central staircase. When he unlocked it and turned the knob, it was stuck fast.
“Thank you, Adolfo,” Maggie murmured. “It appears the door needs some attention.” She heard Mrs. Lopez’s furious little footsteps approaching and wasn’t surprised when Adolfo hurried away.
“He shouldn’t be out of the kitchen,” the housekeeper exclaimed. She grabbed the doorknob and gave the bottom of the door a swift kick to swing it open.
“I’ll remember that,” Maggie promised, “but how does one open the door from outside?”
Mrs. Lopez straightened to her full five feet in height. “Manuel will have it fixed by this afternoon.”
“Thank you.” The window by the door provided another stunning view of the sea and Maggie remained there until the housekeeper walked away. “Dance lessons,” she recalled. She went to find the twins and came across Santos sitting at the bottom of the stairs with his head in his hands.
He looked up. “Vida called me a bastard on her way up the stairs. I hope she falls and breaks both legs on her way down.” He stood and pulled a key from his pocket. “Don’t lose this, and be sure you give it back to me before you leave for home.”
“I will. Are we supposed to be using the door behind the stairs to enter the house from the beach?”
“No, it sticks. There’s another door that opens into the den, but then we track sand into the house and never hear the end of it. Walk through the kitchen as often as you like. It gives Tomas an opportunity to scold us, which is all we ever hear here.”
“I’m going to miss you, Santos,” Maggie admitted with a warm smile. “Do you know where the family photo albums are? I’d like to see what our grandfather looked like.”
“I’ll show you.” He rose, led her into the den and quickly found the leather-bound album on the shelf closest to the desk. “There are a few pictures of Augustín in this one, but most of
“Yes and no,” Vida insisted. “I wanted him to choose me over the parade of women following him like bleating sheep. He thought being his wife ought to be enough for me. I was a fool to disagree.”
“No, he was the fool to behave badly and let you go,” Maggie replied, even knowing she ought to stay out of her father’s twisted love life.
“Thank you, but you’re as wrong as I was.” She checked her diamond-encrusted watch. “I need to keep track of the time; our visits mustn’t be too long.”
“Will I see you at dinner?”
“No, we come and go without making a ripple in Miguel’s life. I hope you’re not sorry you made the trip. Miguel has so many heirs, he can’t be generous to us all. Although you’ll probably be mentioned in his will.”
Taken aback by the second mention of his will, Maggie was slow to respond. “I’m grateful to have met him.”
“I’m sure you weren’t disappointed. Have a safe trip home.” Vida’s tight white sheath barely touched her knees, and her platform heels were so high she tottered slightly as she entered the back door.
Vida was petite and nearly as beautiful as Maggie’s own mother. Her mother was a far stronger woman, though, and had divorced an unfaithful husband rather than suffer with his poor behavior. Still, her mother had kept Miguel’s photographs with treasured family keepsakes, and Maggie would never ask if she harbored any regrets.
Chapter Eight
Tomas, the Aragon’s personal chef, glanced over his shoulder as Maggie entered the kitchen. “You should use the proper rear entrance to the house.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. Where is it?”
The man glanced upward in a silent prayer. “Adolfo, show her the door.”
Adolfo was a short, rotund young man who wiped off his hands and gestured for Maggie to follow. He exhaled in puffs as he hurried down the back hallway. They passed a small lounge where that day’s nurse was seated on the sofa, watching television. Adolfo stopped at a rear door located behind the central staircase. When he unlocked it and turned the knob, it was stuck fast.
“Thank you, Adolfo,” Maggie murmured. “It appears the door needs some attention.” She heard Mrs. Lopez’s furious little footsteps approaching and wasn’t surprised when Adolfo hurried away.
“He shouldn’t be out of the kitchen,” the housekeeper exclaimed. She grabbed the doorknob and gave the bottom of the door a swift kick to swing it open.
“I’ll remember that,” Maggie promised, “but how does one open the door from outside?”
Mrs. Lopez straightened to her full five feet in height. “Manuel will have it fixed by this afternoon.”
“Thank you.” The window by the door provided another stunning view of the sea and Maggie remained there until the housekeeper walked away. “Dance lessons,” she recalled. She went to find the twins and came across Santos sitting at the bottom of the stairs with his head in his hands.
He looked up. “Vida called me a bastard on her way up the stairs. I hope she falls and breaks both legs on her way down.” He stood and pulled a key from his pocket. “Don’t lose this, and be sure you give it back to me before you leave for home.”
“I will. Are we supposed to be using the door behind the stairs to enter the house from the beach?”
“No, it sticks. There’s another door that opens into the den, but then we track sand into the house and never hear the end of it. Walk through the kitchen as often as you like. It gives Tomas an opportunity to scold us, which is all we ever hear here.”
“I’m going to miss you, Santos,” Maggie admitted with a warm smile. “Do you know where the family photo albums are? I’d like to see what our grandfather looked like.”
“I’ll show you.” He rose, led her into the den and quickly found the leather-bound album on the shelf closest to the desk. “There are a few pictures of Augustín in this one, but most of
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